Chapter Nine
How the hell had he ended up driving Little Miss Obstinate upstate to investigate what was probably a dead-end? No way that Shiel Sinaga would be stupid enough to keep one of her playthings locked up somewhere against his will.
And yet, here they were.
Deacon couldn’t help but be a little impressed by Marion. She seemed one of those people who boldly jumped, believing everything would turn out all right. It made him wonder what it would feel like to have someone as devoted to him as she was to Peter. It almost made him jealous.
“By the way, you won,” he said.
“Won?” she asked. “Won what?”
“The arctic wolf won. I have your bounty back at my place.”
“Keep it,” she sniffed. “It’s your money, after all.”
He could care less about the money, but she sounded adorable.
“You mentioned that your shifting is a curse. Are all shifters cursed?”
“No,” he replied. “Most shifters are just normal.”
“Yeah, cause turning into an animal is totally ordinary everyday shit.”
He grinned, liking her snark.
“Am I going to have to worry about you growing weak on this reconnaissance mission?” she asked. “Because I’ll be truthful. I won’t be able to carry you anywhere.”
“No,” he answered. “I’ve about eight hours before I start feeling the effects. We should be back by then, so I’m not worried.”
She nodded and looked out the side window. He’d come to know, in the very brief time spent in her presence, that she was thinking up a lot of new things to say.
“When I was seventeen,” she started, the tone in her voice low and distant.
“I came out of my house, ready for school, and a man came up behind me. A stranger. He slapped his hand over my mouth and started to drag me toward his car. I managed to bite him, and when he temporarily lifted his hand, I screamed. My next-door neighbor, Peter, heard and came running. He beat the guy up.”
Deacon’s heart ached from the emotional upheaval levied in her words. He kept quiet as she continued.
“I watch a lot of true crime, but I never wanted to be one of the stories,” she continued. “I don’t have a doubt in my mind that if Peter hadn’t intervened, I’d have been raped and killed. He saved me that day, and for that, I owe him the same.”
Now he knew why she was so tenacious. The thought of Marion being hurt or killed had him gripping the steering wheel tightly. Suddenly, his attitude toward Peter evaporated. Now, he wanted to help the man who helped the woman sitting next to him.
****
Deacon had given her a hoodie because of the early morning, and the weather was cool the further north they traveled. Past the Capital District, the traffic thinned out, and it wasn’t long before the concrete jungle gave way to lush, green, picturesque towns.
“It’s so beautiful,” she murmured. “I never knew New York had this.”
“Yeah, people tend to think the State is the city.”
They passed a fenced pasture where cows lazily grazed. A soft breeze waved the grass to-and-fro.
“Did you grow up here?”
“Yes.”
Something occurred to her. “Were you born in Greece?”
“What?” he asked, sounding confused. “No. Why?”
“Because you’re a minotaur.”
“And?”
“And ... you’re a minotaur.”
“You repeated yourself, but the answer is still no.”
“Is your dad a minotaur?”
“Yes. This curse is passed down through the male line. He died when I was twenty. Car accident. Mom lives in Greece.”
“She does?”
“No.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Do all minotaurs have a poor sense of humor?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? Why not?”
“You think I know all minotaurs through the whole world?”
“You don’t? I would’ve thought the gene pool would be small.”
“Our ancient ancestor unites us on a very obscure family tree, but like everyone else, the branches move farther apart every generation. I honestly don’t know how many of us are out there.”
She thought about that, realizing it was probably impossible to trace minotaur genealogy. It wasn’t like they could spit into a vial and send it off to 21 and Me.
A little over two hours, they arrived in a very quaint town, with rolling hills, clapboard-sided houses with flower baskets hanging from windows, and old-fashioned-looking streetlights.
“Wasn’t Sleepy Hollow set in New York?”
He stopped at a red light and glanced over. “What?”
“You know. Headless horseman. Icabod Crane. Johnny Depp.”
“Yes, I know the story,” he said. “And yes, The Legend of Sleepy Hollow is set in New York. Did you know Washington Irving is buried in the Sleepy Hollow cemetery?”
“Shut the front door,” she gasped. “There’s a real Sleepy Hollow?”
“You didn’t know that?”
She shook her head. “That’s pretty cool. I bet it’s awesome around Halloween.”
The light turned green, and he accelerated, going very slowly through the town.
“Pull up the map on this property,” he said. “Guide me where to go.”
Marion had already plugged the address into her phone. “Okay, at the next light, take a left. About a mile down that road will be a fork, and take the right side.”
He followed the directions driving out of town and into the natural beauty of the area. The farther they drove the more rural it became. Soon, there weren’t even ranches or houses present.
“Are you sure this is the way?” he asked, sounding skeptical.
“Yes. It’s right here on this property deed.”
“Maybe you read ... what the hell is that?”
The tree line abruptly ended, and in the clearing sat a large warehouse-type building. Deacon stopped the truck, and they stared at it for a long moment.
“This isn’t what I pictured,” she finally said.
“What did you picture?”
“A house. A bordello. A sexual dungeon. Something along those lines.”
“It could be all of those inside,” he noted.
“True. I guess we should investigate.”
He blew out a breath. “I knew you were going to say that. Okay, let me park somewhere where a drive-by won’t see us.”
Driving a little farther, he found a shallow entrance in the tree line where he could hide the car. Once the engine died, Marion jumped out of the cab, intent on making her way back to the clearing and the warehouse.
“Marion,” Deacon said, grabbing her arm to halt her. “Shiel Sinaga isn’t stupid. She’s going to know you might have seen the address of this place. It could be dangerous.”
She lifted her chin. “You don’t get anywhere in life by being scared.”
“True, but you don’t have to be reckless,” he cautioned. “How about if I go check it out and make sure it’s safe?”
“Absolutely not.”
He swore under his breath. “Goddamn it. You’re so fucking stubborn.”
She held his gaze, waiting to see his decision. Finally, he sighed.
“Fine,” he muttered, releasing her arm. “But I lead.”
“Deal.”
Marching off, he practically stomped his way back to the building.
Marion couldn’t help the little smile that broke through, and her gaze dropped to his ass.
She felt no shame ogling his butt because the denim showed off his powerful glutes.
They emerged from the trees but stayed in the shadows as they assessed.
“It doesn’t look like anyone is here,” he said.
“I want to know what’s in this building.” She took a few steps away to see if there was a better angle. “I know there has to be a clue in there on Peter’s whereabouts.”
“What if there isn’t?”
“Then I’ll go back to the Cultural Center and demand answers.”
“Yeah, like a Komodo dragon is going to be intimidated by a human who weighs next to nothing.”
“I have a mighty roar.”
He grinned. “Okay, Nancy Drew, follow me.”
They made their way from the shadows, across the field.
The back of the building, however, showed some life.
A large tractor-trailer had its back doors wide open, and one man pushed a very large container down the ramp, while two others guided containers into the building.
Suddenly, a scream came from inside one, and Marion felt her world tilt.
“There’s a person inside that box,” she whispered needlessly.
“Yeah, I gathered that from the scream.”
“We have to get inside.”
“We’ll wait until they finish unloading.”
She was glad he didn’t argue with her. They waited, watching. Marion counted fifteen containers being moved from the truck and when the last one was delivered, the driver closed the back doors and climbed into the cab. Moments later, the truck left.
“Okay, come on,” Deacon said in a low voice.
They carefully and silently as possible snuck around the side.
There was a safety door marked EXIT and when he turned the knob, it opened, granting them a way inside.
He made his way up the stairs, and she followed him, being careful not to make unnecessary noise.
He tried to open a door on the second level, but it was locked.
She really hoped it wasn’t one of those situations where all the locks automatically engaged.
Deacon continued, and the next door opened.
He placed a finger on his lips, indicating her to be quiet.
Like that was something she was going to forget.
They were in some hallway with windows that allowed them to look down onto the warehouse floor. All the sealed barrels were lined up, and off to the side were a bunch of empty ones.
“What are they going to do with them?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I’ve never seen this before, but I don’t think I like this.”
“We have to get closer.”
“All right,” he agreed, holding out his hand. “Come on.”
She slid her hand into his and he led them farther down the hallway.
They passed elevators, but didn’t want to use them in case the sound brought curious workers.
Instead, they used the internal stairwell and made their way carefully back down.
Deacon opened the door and glanced around, making sure no one saw before he eased onto the warehouse floor.
They used equipment to shield themselves to watch what was going on.
One container was opened, and a person immediately stood up.
Men, women, teenagers. One by one, they lined them up and the way they all swayed gave the impression they were stoned.
Or drunk. Or roofied. They were directed to step into body bags, and the three workers tied the bag at the top before they were lifted onto hooks.
Once all the hooks were full, the conveyer they were attached to moved and the people disappeared into the building.
“We need to get the fuck out of here,” Deacon whispered.
“No, we need to help those people—”
“Marion, look at me.” She did just that, focusing on his face. “This is a processing plant.”
“Processing what?”
“Not what. Who.”
Her eyes widened as the message sank in.
“What?” Denial swept through her. “No way. Does your kind eat people?”
“Minotaurs? No. Komodo dragons? They’ve been known to.”
Horror filled her as she connected the dots. Then she wanted to puke.